


Disciples

by unwindmyself



Category: True Blood
Genre: Bloodplay, D/s, F/F, Femslash, religious masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:25:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is newly converted, but Nora means to show Salome the extent of her devotion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disciples

Morning is threatening to fall when Salome enters her chambers, and she is unsurprised to see that Nora is there waiting, sitting on the bed: they have been apart three days now, and she can only imagine why, but all she needs to know about the other woman’s presence is written across her face, in her clasped hands as might pass for one in an attitude of prayer.

She turns her big blue eyes on Salome when she hears the door open, her expression devoid of any of the trickery most are subjected to.  “Salome,” she whispers, reverent, the name like a blessing.

“My child,” Salome returns, and she looks the younger vampire over with an approximation of lust before coming to sit beside her.  She could not rush this, she knows: it had to be of Nora’s choosing.  But she knew it would be.  “You’ve given thought to the proposal?”

“Oh, yes,” Nora nods.  There is no mistaking her eagerness, nor the vows she is about to give.  “It would be selfish to take of her blood and not surrender my body to her in return.  Lilith gives new life, I know that now, I am happy to turn it over to her service.”

“Of course you are,” Salome coos, taking one of Nora’s hands in hers.  “I did not doubt your devotion to her, my sweet.”  _Or to me_ is the unspoken addendum, and she did not.  She has worked too hard to guarantee it to ever doubt.

“And you will protect me,” Nora ventures, sounding so young yet drawing Salome’s hand suggestively lower.  Protection, pleasure, it is one and the same between them.

“It will be you and I, spreading Lilith’s word,” Salome promises.  Her lips curve up in a smile, she brings her other hand to caress the bared skin of Nora’s throat.  “I will make sure of it.  I will prepare you as I promised, to do whatever you must for her.”

“Start now,” Nora insists.  In her mind, this will be easy: teaching her the proper lies to practice and make natural, which is never difficult.  What to say when she is questioned, how to react.  “I’m ready.”

Salome laughs.  “It has always been in your nature to offer yourself, hasn’t it, little love?” she says affectionately.  She pulls Nora’s dress over her head, pushes her back against the pillows, beams down at her.  “Ever a willing disciple.”

“Of worthy causes,” Nora demurs, moving to allow her panties to be ripped from her body more easily. “There are none so worthy as hers.”

“And there shall not be,” Salome declares as she undresses and positions herself on the bed between Nora’s legs.  “Permit me to ready you?”

Nora bites her lip demurely, nodding.  “I am for the taking,” she affirms.

Salome’s fangs pop; quick as can be, she’s spread Nora’s legs farther and bitten into the pale, tender flesh of her thigh, sighing at the taste of her blood – never so warm as a human’s, but delicate and exquisite in a way that none can match.

“Lilith,” Nora cries out, clutching at the covers and squeezing her eyes shut.  She can already feel a throbbing beginning at her center.  “Please, take all of me, I’m yours.”

“Have patience, my darling,” Salome chides playfully, grinning up at her and licking the blood from her lips.  After all, patience is a virtue they must cultivate; even knowing this, even preaching it, though, she finds Nora’s lack thereof somehow charming. 

The command makes Nora pout – she knows of her failings in that regard – but she also knows it is hers to obey, not to order, to learn, not to instruct.  Instead, she settles back against the pillows to wait as best she can, counting the seconds that pass.

“It will not always be this easy,” Salome cautions, even as she moves to stroke Nora as requested.  “There is little respite for the holy.”

“I know, Salome,” Nora insists.  She draws her bleeding leg up, holds it to her to allow Salome better to work at her.  “Many will try to fight us, to stop what is her will.”

“They will hurt us in every way they can contrive,” Salome continues.  She teases fingers over the punctures on Nora’s leg, wetting them with blood before slipping them between the younger woman’s folds again.  “They will try to deter our mission.”

“And we will not let that happen,” Nora mutters decisively.

“We will not,” Salome agrees.  She returns her mouth to Nora’s thigh, taking in more of the sweet, familiar blood.  “They can hurt us, but they cannot stop us.”  She moves her tongue to Nora’s center, letting her protégé’s blood mingle with her juices.

As Salome feasts on her, Nora is reduced to wordless whimpers: each stroke of her tongue is like electricity to her core.  Every few minutes, Salome breaks away to lap at more of the blood staining her thigh, with more and more determination, more and more purpose, and Nora begins to feel herself growing lightheaded with sensation.

Her orgasm builds slowly, deep inside her, and before it bursts forth, Nora asks, her voice strained with a need to show devotion, “How _will_ they hurt us?”  Even here, she is not distracted.

“Every way they can,” Salome repeats, and then her mouth is gone from Nora’s skin, replaced by a sharpness, a cut, such a stinging.

Nora cries out in agony, feeling _something_ work through her blood, lamenting the way she is kept from release; Salome just rears back, sits on her knees.  “What _is_ that?” Nora exclaims frantically.

“Silver, my dove,” Salome reminds.  “You know it’s what will be done to you when you are questioned.”  Patiently, almost sympathetically, she smiles at the younger woman.  “They cannot see you break, not until it is time, and it is mine to train you.  You know that.”

“It’s excruciating,” Nora wails.  “I can’t –”

“You can,” Salome insists.  “You are strong, Nora, you are strong in her.  This must be done.”

Between the silver and the way she teeters on the brink of orgasm, every nerve in her body feels hyperaware; pain shoots through her with every move, but all Nora can do is repeat, “It must.”  She locks eyes with Salome, desperate, but Salome just shakes her head.

“Not yet,” she says simply.  She drips more of the silver into Nora’s open wound, starts to brush away the tears forming in her eyes.

“If – if Lilith wills it,” Nora stammers, trying unsuccessfully to calm herself.

Salome sits in wait, watching curiously, as Nora lays there crying and convulsing: she takes everything, though.  Her tolerance has not yet been built, but she is trying.  “You’re doing so well,” Salome whispers, tucking hair behind her lover’s ear.

“I want it to be over,” Nora weeps.  “I need it to be, I need you to bring me, to heal me, I –”

“Ssh,” Salome says.  “It will get easier.”  She leans to kiss the tears on Nora’s cheeks, licking away the bloody trails and shivering at the traces of silver she consumes.  “See, my sweet.  Whenever you suffer, so shall I.”

Nora nods again, reaching weakly to press Salome to her.  It doesn’t occur to her that together though their suffering may be, hers is much greater, her lover’s small by comparison.  “My Salome,” she sobs.  “My most perfect Salome.”

“None are perfect but Lilith,” Salome reminds gently, thumbing the other woman’s nipple.  “I am but a shadow of her greatness.”

“You are my shadow of her, then,” Nora groans, rocking her hips frenetically.  “I need you, Salome, I need you so much.”

Salome smiles proudly.  All is according to plan.  “And you shall receive, my good little disciple.”  She tosses the tools aside and drops down, her tongue trailing over Nora’s soft skin and plunging deep into her.

“Oh, Lilith,” Nora cries again, resuming her hold on the bedcovers.  “Take me, I need all of you.”

She wails when Salome pulls away again after a minute, apparently in disregard of her requests, but it is only so the older vampire can open a vein in her wrist and shove it to Nora’s mouth, urging her to drink.  A reward, the promised healing, and Nora accepts it without pause.

Then Salome is buried again between Nora’s legs, kissing and licking at her swollen sex until she screams and sucks Salome’s blood down all the harder, needy and insatiable.  The promised bringing.

“Little bird,” Salome coos when she pulls away, gently extricating her arm and curling beside Nora.

“You taste so splendid,” Nora pants, feeling almost as if she could blush though she hasn’t in centuries.  She turns toward her lover, drapes herself over her body.

“And you are ambrosia,” Salome counters, all fondness.  In the afterward, it’s almost like old times: in the afterward, they are just two women in something like love.

“You will not always be able to soothe me so,” Nora whispers.  “I know this.”

“We will practice it, beloved,” Salome says patiently.  “We will build your tolerance as Lilith requires.”

“I believe you,” Nora replies.  Coming from her, it means more than almost anything she could say.

“You are so good,” Salome murmurs reverentially, stroking the younger woman’s hair.  “You are the child I never had, my sweet thing.”

“My blood still flows in you,” Nora grins, suddenly impish.  “And yours in me.  We are still a part of each other.”

“Always,” Salome declares tenderly.


End file.
